


Changes

by UsagiShipper



Category: Onward (2020), pixar movies - Fandom
Genre: Barley is... there, Barley just gave up, Barley needs a hug, Barley plays guitar, Brother Feels, Brother/Brother Incest, Brotherhood, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Coming of Age, Cute, Denial of Feelings, Drama, Family Drama, Family Issues, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Ian is in college, Ian is trying to find himself, Incest, M/M, One Shot, Porn with Feelings, Purple Prose, Returning Home, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Slow Build, Smut, Song: Glass Vase Cello Case (Tattle Tale), Song: Your Song (Elton John), Songfic, Underage Drinking, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, but with a pinch of angst, duh - Freeform, he's so dreamy, poetic smut, prose, so this is a cute one, there's fluff too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UsagiShipper/pseuds/UsagiShipper
Summary: After more than a year living out for college, Ian goes back to his hometown.What he didn't expect is that the changes brought by his new life can drastically affect his old one.And that not all changes are found going onward, but backwards.And that not everyone can be ready for them.
Relationships: Barley Lightfoot & Ian Lightfoot, Barley Lightfoot/Ian Lightfoot
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	Changes

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dwelling with the idea of Tom Holland and Chris Pratt smashing each other's buttholes good, and I loved Onward, so I made this  
> It just felt like the perfect opportunity...
> 
> Featuring songs "Your Song (Elton John)" and "Glass Vase Cello Case (Tattle Tale)"
> 
> It's kinda romantic, tho  
> I'm a soft boy

Going back home couldn’t be worse than the flight Ian had just left.

Seeing again the school where he wasted most of his time drowning on existential crises, under the pressure of never really fitting in, the home where always felt way too empty since his father’s passing, the neighborhoods that always felt way too tight to house his anxiety… none of that seemed bad enough to compete with the damned lower back pain that would attach to him every time he left one of those long trips. What could even go through the mind of who designed those seats?

But Ian wouldn’t go rambling about this for much. After all, it’s not like he was _required_ at home. It’s not like he hadn’t _chose_ to be there again after almost a year and a half.

“You’ve changed,” his mother, Laurel, had said a bit after they arrived home. Right after a confused squint from Ian, she pointed at his chin. “You finally let the goatee show.”

Ian’s cheeks burned, and that old urgency of hiding his face tugged so hard his hand stung. Mother concealed a giggle when she turned to continue to chop carrots.

“It’s not like I have all the time in world to shave anyway.”

“So it seems that lack of time was what finally made my son grow up.”

Ian chuckled, stroking Blazey’s belly, who laid on his scaled back above the kitchen stool next to him. The little dragon now old and lazy, unable to spark any flames or small puffs of smoke through his nostrils as it used to.

“Was it though?” he continued. “Barley didn’t do a thing all the time and still had a full beard before me.”

Suddenly, something stirred inside him. A cozy shiver right at the bottom of his stomach soon turned into a cold twinge on his heart—the realization of having said something he shouldn’t. _Barley… Barley!_

“Mom! Where’s Barley?”

Mother stopped chopping carrots. Her shoulders stiffened for a second. Without looking at her son, she answered:

“He left home. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Yeah, but… where? I couldn’t talk to him anymore. He hasn’t been active on socials, haven’t been for months now.”

Laurel scraped the knife on the cutting board, the carrot bits fell into the salad bowl. She was about to open her mouth to reply when— _Ding, dong!_

“Oh!” Laurel faced towards the chime and gave a happy clap. “Colt’s home! Can you get him for your mother, darling? He’s also dying to see you.”

“Okay.” He ambled to the lobby and opened the door, envisioning back the so-imprinted image of his stepfather stepping into the house: clumsy on his four centaur legs as he knocked over the coat rack near the entrance for the thousandth time.

But instead of coming across the equine, he came across with a purple troll. With one single eye and one single horn. Maybe it was a little unfamiliar since it had gained some weight since High School, besides that he was unmistakable:

“J-Joffrey?!”

The troll guffawed in that conflicting deep/chirpy symphony of his. “Ian!” Joffrey rejoiced, roping his arms around the boy. And there went Ian, sucked by his old friend’s enraged waves of extroversion, tossed from side to side. “Ian, Ian, Ian, Ian!”

“H-Hi Joffrey. Long time.”

“Wow, let me have a good look on you.” Joffrey stepped back and straightened the friend just like one of those wooden articulated dolls Ian would see during anatomy classes. “Dude, you haven’t changed a comma on yourself—Hey, wait a sec!” The troll squinted, put his chin between his thumb and index and neared Ian’s elf face. “There _is_ something…”

“It’s the goatee,” Laurel noted, leaving the kitchen—arms crossed and the dishrag tossed over her shoulder.

“Mom!” Ian whined in a failed pitch of authority.

Joffrey laughed louder. “Knew it!” Snapped his fingers. “College haven’t been a piece of cake, right? Relax, the goatee reaches all of us eventually.” His eyes reached Laurel and his right hand reached his forehead in continence. “ _Sup_ , Mrs. Lightfoot!”

“Is your father alright, Joffrey?”

“He’s with kidney gnomes again. You know how it is, right? Stuff with trolls at his age.”

“Oh, yes, _old_ people habits never change,” Laurel teased with an arched eyebrow.

Joffrey seemed to have an endless supply of laughter. “Oh, say this to his face and see if his habits won’t change instantly for him to swallow you next!”

Laurel huffed, leaned on the door frame, and opened a wide and mellow smile on her face. “So good seeing you two together again, just like those times…”

“Oh! Speaking of ‘those times’…” Joffrey whirled at Ian, and the elf pinpointed at the same instant: the same look of euphoria the friend used to have before announcing the “awesome” pun he had just invented. “Some guys are also back in town. We’re planning a small reunion back at our old school. I came to pick you up.” He waved his hand, his truck’s keys jingled and spun around his index. “Onward?”

*

It was almost like stepping into an old photograph. The only thing was that this photograph was moving—and moving way too fast for Ian. The people. The smalltalk. The blinking lights and blinking daggers of eyes recognizing him from the crowd. Ian knew alcohol wasn’t going to help lessen this and, either way, there was he gulping down the sixth cup of cheap red.

He already couldn’t recall entering Joffrey’s truck. Or going past every house and avenue he probably lied remembering about. Or when he ended up in the middle of that cluster of strangers that swore being friends with him back at 9th grade. Or of when his heartbeat began increasing too high for his liking, and his feelings too caught up in the air for any of the question marks that dangled around him to fish back.

Ian, where are you majoring at? Ian do you have a scholarship?Ian where are you living?Ian is it beautifulthere??Sincewhendoyouenjoythatarea???HaveyouheardaboutwhathappenedtoBrian????Howdoesyourmomgo?????

? ? ? 

?

? ? ?? 

? ?

? ? ? ? ?? ?

“Joffrey!”

He focused at the worried eye of the troll beside him.

“Yes?” Joffrey asked.

“I… need to leave real quick.”

Joffrey’s eyeball flooded with more worry. “Something happened?”

“Ye–N-No! I’m okay. I just need some air.”

He didn’t know what Joffrey answered after this. He didn’t know if Joffrey had even answered something. Ian found himself away from the gathering, from the chitchat told through tongues so sharp that would rake his eardrums, from the speech bubbles so huge that left any space to breathe inside his comic book square.

_You’re okay,_ he repeated. _Breathe, Ian, breathe._

He was already walking circles around himself. One side to another. Tick, tock. Rhythmic as a metronome needle. And regarding needles, his body felt full of them, prickling under his skin alongside pins.

_Breath in. Breath out. Breathe in. Breathe out…_

What was he thinking? What did he expect coming back? That would be different? That the old city would be as the new one? Where was that mature boy he met in college? Where was that confidence? That honey-tasting freedom that comes from the indifference? It had been a mistake. And drinking hadn’t helped at all. He wanted to get sober again as soon as possible. To get back at breathing properly. To get back at his normal heartrate. To have someone stroking his hair right now and telling him that he’d get back to normal and that he’d be okay. To go home. To get a hug. To—

“ _Ian?!_ ”

A known voice. Ian used everything left in him to turn around. Behind him was someone else. Another elf. A little taller. With the same bluish hair and skin as his. His caramel pupils enlarged in surprise, recognition, and also in protection and care Ian haven’t seen in ages. The elf’s cheeks flushed, coated with blinking, pixie-dust sparkles—a remarkable trait that ran in the family.

“Bar… ley?” Ian’s voice was a weak puff. Oh, no! He knew what was about to happen very well. He was on the verge of a panic attack, and the alcohol worsened it. _Dumb, Ian! So dumb!_

Barley seemed to have noticed it, too. The years of experience between the two never failed. Barley let a moist mopping pad fell on the school’s concrete patio. Why his brother had a scrubber? Why was he wearing that funky janitor jumpsuit? Was Barley a janitor? At school?

He lunged forward towards Ian, holding him by the shoulders, foreseeing the younger brother’s passing out even before Ian himself could know it was about to come.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Barley cooed in Ian’s ear. Still was the same voice, the same exact pitch he used when they were kids. Memorized like a song, a lullaby that would always be inscribed on their minds no matter how old they’d get. It was almost like they haven’t spent even a day apart from each other. “Shhh… shh…,” he whispered as if before the world’s most peaceful breeze, even though Ian was feeling inside the eye of a tornado right beside him. “Look at me now. And listen. We’ll breathe together, okay?”

Ian tried to nod, but his head was so heavy it toppled onto the gap between Barley’s neck and shoulder. Automatically, his arms tied around his brother’s torso.

“Breathe in, Ian. Now,” he guided. The brother followed, swallowing the air that came with the smell of the other’s skin: cheap male lavender cologne, accompanied by the freshness of the mint aftershave. Barley smell. The same after years. Although now it was tarnished with a few sprinkles of the scent of acrylic paint and bleach, it still was unmistakably the same.

Ian allowed himself to close his eyes. “Barley…,” he slurred, his breath warming up from Barley’s heat.

“Breath out,” Barley continued, unfazed. And they both exhaled together.

Another “breath in” came, but Ian wasn’t strong enough to follow it anymore. His vision blurred and darkened at the sides. His muscles eased, inebriated more that from only the alcohol. He was intoxicated by the perfume and care irradiating from Barley.

Since his return, Ian felt for the first time at home.

And it was the thing he held on to before passing out completely.

***

_Are you still, still breathing?_

_Are you still breathing?_

Waking up to that song was as pleasant as waking up in the middle of the night only to discover it’s raining. Ian flipped to one side and another. Where was he? A mattress lied under him, so thin it almost made no difference sleeping on the floor. He took the time to stretch himself and whished to fade away into sleep again, drifting alongside the music notes.

The singer was Barley, accompanied by the delightfully out-of-tune rhythm of the old guitar he had since high school.

“ _‘Breathe into my hands I'll cup them like a glass to drink from/Are you still, still breathin’…_ ”

Unrivaled.

Some people liked to get all the way out of town to wake up to the sound of birds. Ian had Barley. At arm’s reach. Barley, always trying to reproduce any kind of song with his worn-out guitar and out-of-tone singing voice that would wake Ian up way before he wanted to during the time they still shared the same room.

Not even close to what chirping birds were. But for Ian it was just as beautiful and mesmerizing as, if not better.

He allowed time to pass. Sunlight flooded everything inside Barley’s van. It still looked the same as the last time Ian had seen it, except for the fact that now was overflowing with utilities. Hygiene products, clothes and Tupperwares towered all around. Barley was on the front seat, focused on the chords in which he would still mess up anyway. Until it was too much for Ian to bear, a smile spread across his face and cracked into a chuckle.

“Funny you picking this song to wake me up.”

Barley gave a startled yelp and turned towards Ian at the back of the van. Ian’s face glimmered with pixie dust, his curls in a funny bed-hair mohawk. Barley flashed a timid smirk.

“Heh! I knew it would work.” He left the instrument on the passenger seat and began inching towards the interior of the van.

“No, you don’t need to stop. Keep playing. Seriously.”

“Look at who’s asking for an encore. When you were 13 you said you hated it.” Playful as always, he rolled his eyes, hands on his waist.

Ian shrugged. “College ‘changed me.’”

Barley sat cross-legged a foot away from his brother. “Oh, did it? To me you haven’t changed a thing.”

Ian tilted his head and squinted. “Hm?”

Barley gave a heavy sigh. “I thought the anxiety fits were over.”

Ian’s head dropped, and he kept gazing the metal floor of the van without opening his mouth once. The scent of rust drifted around the silence. “Well, at least _you_ changed at _something_ ,” he mumbled.

Barley’s brows lifted in surprise. “Huh? At what?”

“You got bigger.” His finger darted his brother’s tummy.

“Oh, don’t even _try_ to try me, Ian!”

They both fell into laughter. “Just kidding. I think you really changed. Mom said you’ve finally left home.”

Barley stretched his arm and magicked a bag of chips out from a random pile. “I wouldn’t go that far. Breakfast?” He jiggled the opened bag at Ian.

“Wait! Are you…” He scanned around, the quantity of utilities stored above the seats, the grey janitor jumpsuit hanging from half-opened back door… “Are you living in your van?!”

“Don’t tell mom, ok? She would flip the shit.” He snickered and shrugged, but it was far from looking nonchalant as much as Barley could be convincing. Ian saw what no one else knew how to: the looking away, the one-shoulder shrug, and the forced laugh. Barley had lied. “When are you leaving?”

“Monday.”

“Tomorrow? Already?!”

“It’s not like I came during holiday season or something. I’ll be already missing a class because of the flight back,” he sighed.

“You’re lucky to have me on my day off.” Barley tossed the bag of chips away from Ian. “Forget this. I need to get my little brother a proper lunch.”

As Barley leaped back to the driver’s seat and buckled himself, Ian closed the back door and inched closer. “Y-You don’t have t—”

“Hush!” He took his index to his sealed lips. “I’ll make the most out of my little brother either he likes it or not.” Barley turned the key on the ignition and the engine rumbled and banged. Ian could almost laugh from it—it still sounded like as if the engine itself had woken up with a start. “I was thinking about hitting Manticore’s diner these days anyway. What do you think?”

“I think it’s best if we—”

“C’mon, Ian. For the old times?”

A knot clinched inside Ian’s throat and untangled once he met his brother’s rejuvenated face. Barley hadn’t been that elated any time during their chat. And by the expression marks and oversized bags underneath his eyes he hadn’t for a while.

Ian beamed, sat on the passenger’s seat, and buckled up.

“For the old times.”

***

The road trip was a disaster. Minotaurs honking at them, and horns of big-headed unicorns almost tearing the van’s bodywork apart. Yeah, yeah, it’s not like unicorns couldn’t be entitled about themselves—because unicorns—but still. Rude.

“I’m not _that_ bad of a driver, am I?” Barley grumbled, not sure himself if he should sound serious or sarcastic.

“Barley, you almost ran over two gnomes.” Ian couldn’t stay without laughing no matter how hard he tried. He’d been laughing for almost an hour straight now. Since the almost hitting of said gnomes to be exact.

“And _I_ am the one to blame? Have you seen how tiny those things are? Give me a break!”

“You’re being gnomephobic.” He didn’t resist saying that, mimicking a hyper talkative girl from his Social Sciences class.

“Is that a thing now?” Barley’s eyes widened and his jaw fell slack.

“It must be. And you can’t say the same about the pixies. They’re tiny but they were flying. And you still almost hit them anyway.”

“Ian, do you want me to leave the table or something?” he poked with a snigger.

“No, no. Kidding.” He took a moment along his brother so they could catch their breath from laughing. “I can’t believe from all the things I could miss I would miss this the most. Having my life at risk with you on the steering wheel.”

“You know what I also missed? This.” Barley pointed to the sweaty beer mug at his side. Then, he downed a generous gulp from the beverage. “Ah… Superb!”

They were at Manticore’s diner. The traffic inside the restaurant still was huge during Sundays. Parents, kids, couples, and friends streamed nonstop all around the blazing thematic torches. The scent, a plethora of hot drinks, syrup, sauces and spices waving through everything.

“How is that called again?”

“Hm, _Rustic Beer_? You—” Barley stemmed himself, as if he had just realized the most obvious thing in the world. “You never drank that, did you? When you left New Mushroomton you still were 18.” He smacked himself on the forehead. “Totally forgot you are not 21 yet!”

“Well…,” Ian shifted on his stone seat, “I’ll be quite soon…”

Barley gagged midway through a sip and stared at his brother, shooting daggers of suspicion.

“I can’t believe it. You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“Oh, Barley, get real. As if you didn’t know how college students are…”

“Un-fucking-believable.” He froze, gapped, scanning Ian from head to toe. “Someone changed _indeed_.”

“Just stop.”

“Alright, alright. So, here’s the deal, I’ll give you a sip. A _sip_.”

He slid the sweaty glass over the table. Ian grabbed it with both hands and took it to his lips. Savored it like the oldest, rarest wine in the cellar. And once more, closing the eyes and allowing the flavor to take in. It had the caramelized taste of pepper, mint and sin. It trickled smoothly down the throat, like drinking liquid velvet. A shiver of euphoria crawled up his spine. “Hm,” he purred, licking his lips and sipping again. “How is this made?”

“Divine, isn’t it? It’s flamed alcohol.”

“Flawless.” He swigged.

“That’s enough,” Barley rebuked, snatching the beer away from Ian, hugging the mug and pouting like a child. “Mine! _Just_ mine!”

“Your mom didn’t teach you sharing is caring?”

“And law taught me I can go to jail. And society that I don’t have enough money to leave on bail.”

“Since when you became such a square? You’ve changed _way_ more.”

“Excuse me, what did you call me again?!” Barley cupped his hand around his own hear and neared Ian, faking not having heard it.

“Oh, it’s normal to get a little _square_ at _your age_ , I understand,” he kept teasing, fearless.

“Excuse me?! At _my_ age?!?”

Ian covered his mouth to suppress a chuckle. Barley straighten on his seat and, still pretending to be dead serious, rose.

“And where are you going?” Ian asked.

“Sir. Ian Lightfoot, you are convicted of the most heinous crime of the kingdom,” he proclaimed, hand above his heart. “Calling king Barley Lightfoot a square and old. Before the court, how do you plead?”

“Guilty?” he said, leaning in.

“Aha!” Barley pointed his finger in accusation. “The confession. Shameless proof! Thou shall be sentenced to the highest punishment in the Kingdom of Mushroomton…” He took a break to mimic the suspenseful drum roll: “ _Public secondhand embarrassment!_ ”

“Er…?”

Barley had already gulped the whole mug of Rustic Beer down when Ian caught him sauntering towards… the karaoke.

_Oh no!_ “Barley!” No answer. “Barley!”

About to fall into despair and laughter, Ian rushed out of the table and ploughed against the crowd. “Excuse me, excuse me, there’s a drunk man about to embarrass himself around here needing my help,” he explained so people would make way faster. However, when he reached the stage—too late.

Barley was already on, finishing talking to the DJ and taking the microphone.

“Crap,” Ian mumbled under his breath, feeling naked when Barley announced to the public:

“This one goes to that little guy over there.” Everyone rubbernecked towards where his index pointed at. Ian felt like dying for the fifth time that same day. “And to prove to everyone that it’s not because I’m old that I’m a ‘square.’ DJ, do the honors…”

The instrumental chords started in all the speakers. Immediately, Ian was struck by a nostalgic shiver. It was _Your Song_ , by Elfon John. _Mom and Dad’s wedding song,_ he whispered to himself. Nothing could be more unforgettable. It was the first song Barley learned to play in the guitar. It was the only reason he wanted to learn guitar in the first place. Every now and then, during the years, Ian would catch himself humming the tune, sometimes Barley doing it. But in the majority of the time it was both of them. Together.

In the car, going to school, going back from school, when they’re alone in their room or merely bored. The song worked like a secret code they shared to ensure their bond.

Barley debuted, singing as best as he could:

“ _It's a little bit funny_

_This feeling inside_

_I'm not one of those_

_who can easily hide_ ”

As he loosened himself in his performance, Barley opened his eyes and fixed the gaze on Ian.

“ _Don't have much money_

_But, boy, if I did_

_I'd buy a big house where_

_We both could live_ ”

“[…] _I know it's not much_

_but it's the best I can do_

_My gift is my song_

_And this one's for you_ ”

At that point, Barley was already swagging around the stage, putting up a playful dance that elicited laughs and encouragements from the crowd. Ian stood there, numbed. Weirdly, he wasn’t ashamed anymore, but something else. A soft, fuzzy sensation flourished at the bottom of his heart and stomach, as if he just had the coziest hot chocolate he ever drank. It was similar as the feeling of being home, but bigger. Much bigger. Like if someone had picked the most beautiful note in that song and increased it a thousand times more in an amplifier. And that frequency, unique and melodic, prickled beneath his skin. A song that only he seemed to be able to listen to dance to… well, in that second, only him _and_ Barley.

“ _And you can tell everybody_

_this is your song_

_It may be quite simple but_

_now that it's done…_ ”

The public clapped and whistled. It was when a girl-witch somewhat younger broke Ian’s trance by tugging at his sleeve.

“Your boyfriend is adorable! Definitely a keeper,” she praised in a whisper, cheeks red and hand over her giggling mouth.

“Oh! Thanks, but he’s not my boyfriend, he’s—”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t bother explaining.” She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s already crystal clear to everyone.”

Was it?

Unable to undo the misunderstanding on time, Ian watched the witch walk away and, then, pulled his gaze back to his brother. Barley didn’t even flinch his eyes away from Ian when he whooped the chorus:

“ _I hope you don't mind_

_I hope you don't mind_

_That I put down in words…_ ”

Without realizing, Ian began grinning from ear to ear.

“ _… how wonderful life is_

 _while you're in the world._ ”

***

When they arrived back at downtown, evening had already settled.

Ian droved this time. Not only because he didn’t want to risk dying in a traffic accident for the second time that day, but because Barley, no matter how sober he said he was, had a little too much of the flamed drink.

The road back had been covered by torrential rain, which in no way slowed their excitement down during the trip. However, when they neared the school, the atmosphere was normal again. The sky, even at night, was clear and devoid of even a slightly darker cloud.

“I’ll never be able to get this town’s crazy weather,” Barley said, slammed the van’s backdoor and followed his brother.

“How not? Weren’t you the one who told me back at High School the weather at Mushroomton was unstable because of its magic past? ‘Magic is always reshaping itself even when not used’ and that whole talk?” Ian shut his own door.

Barley stagnated his pace and, with a surprised face, spun towards his younger brother.

“Well, look at this. _Someone_ payed attention at my explanation of the Unexplainable Sciences.”

“Wanna explain to me something else equally unexplainable? Why are we back here again?”

Barley cleaned his throat and proudly sauntered to the sports hall’s back door. “It happens to be Sunday.” He rested on the door frame.

“Am I missing anything?” He squinted.

“Lots. Like the fact school’s totally closed on Sundays.” Shrewd, Barley fished out of his vest pocket a bunch of keys that rotated ostensibly around his index. “And _I_ happen to be the janitor.” He held onto a smug expression until the penny hit Ian.

Ian’s jaw fell. Barley unlocked the door and pushed it at his back. The outside’s dim light gave way into the gloomy leisure center. From underneath the Olympic-sized swimming pool, neon blue lights refracted and glistered against the rippling waves, coating the walls and their bodies in azury gleams.

“Feel like ending the day with a private dive in my jacuzzi?” Barley teased.

Ian could have swallowed twenty flies at that point. He traipsed into the gym, wandering over each one of the pool’s edges, gawking at the way the water flowed around—alluring, ethereal even. It occurred to him he hasn’t felt before such powerful magic force since that one time he messed with a wizard staff at sixteen, when—

_Splash!_

Ian whipped his head up. Found Barley laughing at the other end of the pool, already inside his undies only, water dripping from every strand of hair. “Hurry up!”

“In a minute,” he assured, walked to the bleachers and striped out of his red flannel, leaving it above a step. When undressing from his jeans, Ian noticed the bulge of his cellphone inside his back pocket and took it out. Two texts and one missed call from Mother.

Mother: where r u?

Mother: still with Joffrey?

Ian was about to reply when, almost like a primal reflect, his fingers hesitated over the keyboard. Somehow, telling his mother he was with the brother seemed… _wrong_.

Ian: Y I’m at his place. Ill be back later or tomorrow morning.

He inched back to the pool’s edge, still feeling an unknown hook tugging at his heart. Ian stood there for a second, pondering about the lack of something to ponder about, until a water splat hit him in the face.

Barley had his arms crossed over the edge of the pool, eyeing Ian from his feet. “You ok?” A trickle of worry ran through the crack on his jolly mask.

“Uh-huh.” He magicked a smile and plunged into the water.

Once he reemerged, cold water running around his shoulders, Ian spotted Barley meters away with only his eyes sticking out—enough for Ian to identify the insidious look of impending trickery only his brother could do.

Even inside the water’s temperature, Ian’s chest reheated. “What?”

Instead of an answer, Barley paddled, creeping closer, his palms glued together to imitate a shark’s fin. “Dun, dun… dun dun dun dun,” he chanted the Jaws’ movie theme song.

“Stop,” Ian giggled, smacking his palm on the pool, water gushing at Barley’s face. “You know I’m still scared over this movie. It’s your fault I still can’t go to the beach without getting paranoid.”

Barley uttered a titter that crawled deep down Ian’s memory lane. An honest, delightful laugh any more different than the innocent, careless ones Barley used to give as a child. Warmth spread underneath Ian’s face.

“Stop acting like a zombie!” Barley splatted back.

They laughed minutes at a stretch, allowing themselves until they were breathless.

For the first time he could remember, Ian felt completely freed from any shame or shyness. That _thing_ , that thing he had been feeling since the karaoke made something inside of him disrobe. Ian felt totally aware of himself and, at the same time, totally conscious to his surroundings, as if bare naked in front of someone and not caring about it at all.

“Today was awesome,” Barley revealed, his voice low and balmy, totally out of his own character.

“It was,” he agreed. And they stood gazing at each other, without knowing what else could possibly be said.

“Can’t remember last time I had so much fun.”

“Me neither.”

“By your Instagram posts I thought your life and fun were the same thing,” Barley scoffed and laid on his back to float. Ian did the same, and they let themselves drift around the water’s course.

“Oh, so you _do_ see what I post.”

Barley made the same silence he used to do when their mother caught him on a lie. Ian swore feeling the knot clenching at the other’s throat. There wasn’t a better moment to bring that subject up.

“Why were you ignoring my texts, Barley?”

Silence. Then, finally:

“I just didn’t want you to know about… _this_. Your life seemed so, so… _everything_. And mine is everything but. I didn’t want to ruin any of the opportunities that you were getting.”

“Since when you’re a janitor? What happened with being a historian?”

More silence. But Ian was able to picture his older brother shrugging even though their gazes were fixed to the hall’s metallic ceiling.

“That’s why you and mom aren’t speaking?” Ian pressed.

“ _Humft_ , she told you then.”

“No, not even a hint. But it wasn’t really necessary.”

“She kicked me out.”

Ian’s turn at the guilty silence. He ran through his thoughts, trying to untangle the mess of sudden knots inside his throat so he could reach a proper answer he knew lied there, somewhere down his core.

“I don’t blame her,” Barley said. “I’d probably do the same if I were her.”

“How long you guys haven’t spoken?”

“That would be around the same time you’ve left for college.”

“…”

A beat.

“Barley…”

“Yeah?”

Another one.

“How long has been since you spoke with anyone at all?”

Barley’s heavy sigh tore the silence. He stopped floating, paddled to the closest edge and sat outside the pool, legs still dangling under water as he faced down—inspecting the droplets running down his body. Ian followed and did the same, settling right by his brother.

“I’m not sure if you noticed, Ian—but if you didn’t, you will. When you get to a certain age, you start to notice…” He sighed; his shoulders slumped. And Ian waited. Seeing Barley vulnerable like that was enchanting and crushing at the same intensity. “That stuff doesn’t always happen the way you want them to happen. They’re just not so easy as they seem. You _always_ learn something after High School that changes _everything_.” He carded his hand through his soggy hair.

“I get it.”

At the sound of these words, Barley’s face regained life and laid eyes on Ian, his voice already sociably back to normal:

“You discovered something new, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but…,” he fidgeted, rubbing his legs together, “ _not at college_.”

Barley’s social-butterfly look soon twisted into a frown. “What do you mean?”

“It was something I had been looking for a while. A feeling I didn’t know I had in me until… today, actually.” He rocked on his place.

“And… is it a _bad_ feeling?” Barley could only look more confused if question mark bubbles popped over his head.

Ian shook his head. “No. At least, it wasn’t _supposed_ to be. It’s part of the problem, I guess. I liked it too much. However, I was…,” he breathed in and prepared himself for what probably was the hardest thing he would ever have to say aloud, “scared of not finding that thing again after I left Mushroomton. And now that I’m back…” Sigh. “This should be the _last_ place for me to find something like this. I think that’s why I moved so far away. I guess that, after all, I moved to run away, and not to look for it.”

It burned Barley’s tongue not being able to say he wasn’t getting it before Ian could finish venting.

“And no matter how far I go, it seems that I just stay less away from it. Sometimes I feel like… like I never left.”

“Ian, if there’s someone who understands immobility, that would be me. Look, it sucks, I know, and I don’t pretend it doesn’t. But if there’s something that helps me go through this is cherishing the small things I have. It gets easier once you learn to appreciate the things that stuck with you and stop trying to seek what’s beyond you can get.”

“Like?”

“Like…” Barley scratched his chin, and, after a moment, his eyes lit up. “Like my van! She has been with me since I was a teen. And I’d be totally adrift if it wasn’t for her. I know, it’s silly, but just imagine being kicked out with not even a van to go to… At least with her I had support. Not the biggest support in the world, but still it was big enough for keep me going until now.” Barley lost himself in his words. Suddenly, Ian saw that glimmer behind his brother’s eyes—that same one that would only show up when Barley was spluttering about some “awesome update” in one of his RPGs, or when he was in a garage sale and stumbled across some super rare action figure at a low price.

Then, his gaze slid until it reached Ian’s face.

“So? What’s your most special thing that has been with you all your life?”

They were face to face. And Ian saw that glimmer burn brighter in the hazel of Barley’s gems as soon as they locked eyes. It burned in a way Ian never saw before, or that he was never able to identify before, and—as fast as the weather, as the rain that poured and then dribbled, the sun that incinerated and then stifled—Ian understood.

“ _You_ ,” he said. Uncontrollable. The other’s expression trembled, caught off guard, but soon got itself together and was back at shimmering. Their cheeks glittered in hypnotic synchrony.

Ian understood that looking at Barley’s face at that moment was like looking at a mirror.

Because he knew he looked at Barley with the same love that he looked at him.

That wasn’t new. That feeling was no novelty.

Since always. Since they were kids and he’d catch Barley singing randomly, since Barley told him countless stories about the town’s magic past, since he celebrated every small victory during their videogame matches…

Ian had been looking at him the same way. With the same enthusiasm.

They both have always been, somehow, on the same page even though living two completely different stories. Tuned as if by electromagnetic waves, which began to ionize, ionize, and ionize… starting an irrepressible magnetism… the two poles attracting each other… their faces drawing closer, and closer, and closer, until…

His lips against Barley’s. His tongue making way in and colliding with the other. It had the taste of the flamed alcohol, of the pepper, mint and sin. And, just like earlier, it was the best thing he ever tasted. Barley’s palm rested on Ian’s face, stroking his chin with certain tension. Ian didn’t blame him. After all, Barley was kissing his own broth—Wait! _What?!_

They jerked apart. Still on mirror mode, their haunted eyes wide opened over each other. Still as sudden as the kiss, a flash of light gained over the sky and thundered, shaking the metal ceiling. Rain pelted, muffling any thing that could be said and cooling down whatever was that fire that’d just surfaced.

Barley got on his feet. With movements rhythmical and machined from who was having to relearn how to act, he stressed out, “We need to leave.”

“R-Right.”

Ian strode to the exit. Recollected his clothes and asked himself where that warmth had gone as he hugged his own body, flogged by an abrupt, hostile gust of cold air.

Outside, Barley slid open the van’s side door and hopped in first, running from the rain. Inside, Barley fumbled with his portable heater until he got it on. Ian stayed behind, by the door, shuffling his weight from foot to foot as that freezing pang twisted into his heart. Barley handed him a clean towel without addressing a word or a look.

The buzzing of the car’s roof light was the only sound to be heard during the next twenty minutes. Barley had lied on the front seats and let Ian at the creased mattress by the back of the van. And that was it.

Ian would never be able to say how much time passed after this. His face was pressed onto the pillow which case exuded Barley’s smell. He tried regaining focus searching the scent of wet earth from out there. Tried regaining focus from his brother’s noisy breath by switching it for the clinking of the raindrops over the hood. Tried regaining focus from the storm inside him by the hard flashing and clapping he saw through the window.

“Barley…,” he finally bleated.

“Relax, Ian,” he cut short. “I already know. I know. I know you’re sorry, I know you didn’t mean to, I know you expect it to not change our bond and blah, blah, blah.”

“No.” He was impressed by the speed it took him to say that. “This is not what I wanted to say.”

Slowly, Barley rose his head from the seat and sneaked a tearful eye over the back of the van. Ian got on his feet and strutted until they were facing each other again.

“You think you know it all because you’re older. Always like this,” he tutted. “But you know what _I_ know, Barley? I know that I _don’t_ feel sorry, I know that I _meant_ it, and…”

Another thunder, faint and low-rumbled but shuddering and bone-piercing.

“And I know you feel the same.”

It was done. No turning back. Ian had seen the abyss and bungee jumped into it without even checking if he’d his lifeline attached.

“Can we just agree that, regardless of time and distance, some things will _never_ change? Even if only for one night?” he sniffled. Still sitting, Barley brought a hand to his brother’s cheek and wiped a tear. Ian didn’t even notice his own cry. “I don’t know what this is, I don’t know what I’m _actually_ looking for. I just know that right now I _need_ to be with you.”

They paused for a second, astounded by the damnation present at each other’s eyes. Barley’s hand fell from the cheek and glided until it found solace on Ian’s lower lip. Ian finally felt able to exhale, closed his eyes and pecked Barley’s fingertips, indulging himself to the touch.

Spreading both palms, Barley enveloped Ian’s tiny, delicate face. Barley aligned his posture, knees over the seat, matching his brother’s height in order to kiss him again. When lips parted, they were panting and starving for more. Way more. Ian went around the seat, Barley guided him over his lap. Ian’s legs wobbled when Barley brushed them one end to another, dazzled by the fact he was being allowed to do that.

Was that really happening? He and his brother? Right there? Right now?

Ian took a sharp breath in, lightheaded from another looming anxiety fit. Barley entwined his fingers with Ian’s, held tight, and cooed, “It’s okay, it’s okay… Breathe in… Breathe out…”

As if by the magic that roamed the city, Ian’s breath soothed and the zigzag inside his mind became a straight line. Found Barley simpering at him, cheeks blazing, sickly-sweet. He leaned to kiss Barley again and once more. Soon kissing wouldn’t be enough. Still wearing underwear, Ian felt he and his brother bulging between legs.

Ian let his hand weave through Barley’s solid messy hair. Barley skimmed the youngest’s collarbone, and slowly his back, as if ensuring himself Ian could be as beautiful as he saw. Ian grinded his crotch against the other’s, inciting a string of weak moans between the two.

“ _Fuck_ , Ian! You’re so… _wow!_ ” he huffed as he placed a trail of kisses on his brother’s jaw.

“You’re perfect.” Unruly, he burrowed his nose into Barley’s hair, getting intoxicated by the scent of chlorine and sweat soaring between them.

Barley’s hands slipped inside Ian’s undies and dragged them down. Ian did the same on his brother’s, his breath rushed to the tenth power as Barley’s happy trail was exposed, and then his entire manhood. His own shaft was also exposed, throbbing and dripping over Barley’s belly.

And there was nothing else between them.

Heart racing, Ian fisted his palms and dug his nails into Barley’s flesh.

“Shhh… relax…” the older one softened, voice lighter than a feather.

Barley reached past the elf and unlocked the glove box. He picked something that sounded wrapped in rustling plastic, and Ian didn’t even need to turn around for a shiver to cut through his spine.

That _was_ really happening.

Witty and lewd, Barley held the condom between his thumb and index and tore the wrapping with his pointy canines. “So it’s easier,” he explained, compassionate, always sustaining the eye contact and the smug smirk. Ian nodded and loosened his grip.

Barley rolled the condom down his length. “Alright?” he stuttered. Ian nodded again, shut his eyes and held his breath.

Ian lift his legs from Barley’s lap, and Barley slowly began to slide into him. Ian’s nails clenched flesh again. But then, Barley touched his brother… down there. And everything eased. The swelling on his stomach. The cold in his spine and the fire on his face. It all faded into detail. Barley humped in and out, his hand stroke back and forth. Tender but foreign enough to caught one off guard, like getting licked by a kitten.

Barley kissed Ian. Ian kissed Barley. From memory, from heart, as if it was commonplace, something they leaned from childhood as riding a bike. Flamed, pepper, mint, sin. Ian cupped his brother’s face; Barley’s stubble itched his palms in a mix of familiarity and discovery. Every step felt like stepping on known territory, but also completely new—like talking to a longtime pen pal in person for the first time.

Barley’s thick digits walked around Ian’s thin body. Barley seemed to know how to strum Ian just as with his guitar, as if Ian were the instrument he knew to play best, and he pulled out of his brother the sexiest melody he ever heard. Gasps. Sighs. Moans. Pleas. Whispers. Promises. So personal that they didn’t even seem to be able to come out of anyone’s mouth. They both seemed to be able to know each other’s thoughts with the lucidity of a clairvoyant, having glimpses of the darkest, most untouched curves within them.

Back. Forth. In. Out. Ian’s mind splintered as he approached climax.

“I-I… I…”

Ian swooned over his brother’s exposed torso.

“Say it,” Barley demanded.

Barley raised Ian’s face back to his, forcing eye contact.

“Say it!”

Ian quivered, eyes barely opening.

“I…”

Another thrust. Boiling blood. Almost there. Almost… He enveloped Ian’s jaw, piercing his spirit with his aching plea:

“Please, Ian. No one has said that to me in a _really_ long time.” A moan of his own cut in. “S-Say it. N-Now!”

“ _I love you!_ ”

His body pressed against Barley’s. For a second that seemed like an eternity, the two seemed to coexist in one. Ian’s legs trembled with Barley’s heart throb. One’s moans in the same staccato as the pants of the other. And then, nothing. Everything fell out of hand, like a yarn ball that had slipped and unfurled around the floor. And the two stood there, watching the mess they had accidentally caused and already trying to sort out where they would start to fix it.

When breath regained alongside his ability to create sentences, Barley gave a sheepish smirk and said, “I love you, too, lil’ bro.”

The words stirred deep within him, and Ian could have sworn to taste them. Dangerously sweet. Like eating a stolen treat from the snack cabinet before lunch. And Ian rested on his brother’s soft chest that rose and fell with his breathing. Ian had the most satisfied smile in the world, and looked about to have another fit, but this time, however, one from high sugar rush.

Too bad not even all the insulin in the world could save him this time.

***

Next morning was inevitable.

Ian was still inside the van. Barley had just given him a ride to the corner of their parents’ house to drop him off, when he said:

“I don’t think walking you there is a very good idea.” His hands gripped hard on the steering wheel, leaving marks of clammy palms around.

Ian tensed through the moment he stayed silent, musing about what else he could do and say before waving goodbye without looking too normal, too casual. However, he recognized, that was something he couldn’t have control of. _No one_ could possibly know how to act in that same situation.

So, he pecked his brother on the cheek and opened the door. He was already some feet away on the sidewalk when he whirled around, glared Barley and blurted with all the determination left on him:

“Come with me.”

“What?!” The blue drained from Barley’s face.

“I mean it. Leave with me. Just grab your stuff as I say goodbye, hop into that flight and let’s go. Or better, we can _drive_ there.” He smiled just at fantasizing about the possibility, with the thousands of upcoming memories that that endeavor already promised to make. “You could live with me. We could share the apartment. It’ll be good for you. It’ll be good for _us_.”

Barley pattered his fingers on the steering wheel, then on the dashboard. His gaze went up, sideways… Until finally:

“No. No, Ian.”

If a pin fell onto the asphalt now a mile away, Ian believed he would hear it.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t like to, Ian. Or that I wouldn’t find it to be great. I do. I do _a lot_. Is just that…,” he allowed his own gaze to drift away, “this would be a huge and drastic change on top of another huge and drastic change. I might not be ready for it. For _now_ , you know?”

Ian’s arms fell weak at his sides. He nodded. “Yes. Yes, I know. Sorry.” Ian drew closer to the window, hand holding Barley’s arm like a vise. “Just remember that I’ll always be waiting. Always. Any time you need. Any way you want. Okay?”

Barley nodded to avoid flinching to the stab on his now pea-sized heart.

They kissed again. Didn’t even care if anyone saw them. They kissed goodbye. No taste of flamed alcohol, neither pepper nor mint. Only ashes, lead and sin.

Ian turned around and marched back to the last place on Earth he’d dare calling home.

*

In the departure lounge, he said goodbye to his mother. He greeted and said goodbye to Colt. He left for the airport runway. Went upstairs.

When he arrived in New Mushroomton earlier that weekend, he had thought about the excruciating lower back pain, how uncomfortable and long the trip had been. And he started to think about how bad the return would be, too.

However, once he finally found his seat number and row…

The plane seat didn’t feel that uncomfortable anymore.


End file.
